


the wanting comes in waves

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Relationship Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 15:39:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13056984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The truth is, Natasha hasn’t been to the farm in over six months. Clint tries not to think about it. It would only make things worse, he knows, if he brought up to Laura that he missed her. Laura was Natasha’s best friend, but Natasha was now also “the other woman,” something more than an idea floating around in Clint’s mind that he had previously considered off-limits. Clint being honest about that had changed a few things, most notably, Natasha’s presence in their lives.





	the wanting comes in waves

**Author's Note:**

> If you thought part one was a roller coaster of feelings, this takes it all to a whole other level.
> 
> Simply put, I think there's a lot to explore about Clint's decision to leave his home and come out of retirement, and I'm still a little salty that we got literally nothing focusing on that except for him suddenly showing up and joining the fight with a throwaway line to his family.
> 
> Thank you to @anothercover for listening to me whine and walking me through many parts of this, and @spectralarchers for talking me down from my many insecurities.

Clint opens his eyes, blinking as the quiet he’s been surrounded with is shattered.

He rolls over on the couch, half-hoping if Nate cries long enough, his other son will take pity on him and relieve him of his dad duties. He knows better, though, and they’ve been through this enough times already: he’s the adult, and he’s responsible for any and all childcare until Laura gets back from Lila’s doctor appointment -- and that’s that, “don’t you _dare_ try to drag Cooper into this, Clint, he shouldn’t be taking care of a baby at age eight.”

“Hey, buddy.” Clint bites back a yawn as he gets up, reaching over to pick up Nate who has been sleeping in his portable playpen and is now very cranky about being awake. “Hey, buddy bud. C’mon, what’s the matter?”

He’s been finding himself talking to Nate a lot lately, especially when no one else was around. Sometimes, it felt like Laura was judging him even though she swore she wasn’t, and he obviously wasn’t going to put his grown-up issues on his kids, but babies...well, babies couldn’t even talk back. The most they would understand would be a lot of words, not things like Clint talking about his partner, who he kind of would rather be with at this point. As long as he steered clear of the swears, he was good.

“Okay, okay...I get it. I know, you’re hungry. Let’s have some dinner, okay? We’ve even got that mashed pea stuff you like. I know you like that because it’s the one thing you haven’t spit up in the past few days, so it’s gotta be a win, right?”

Nate continues crying, his face scrunched into a ball of anguish. Clint sighs and bounces the baby on his hip, walking into the kitchen. He manages to one-handedly stir the pot of noodles sitting on the stove, turn off the burner, and then ease Nate into his high chair. The baby continues to wail with high-pitched screams as fat tears streak down his red face. Clint tries to ignore the sound, twisting open a can of baby food and dumping its contents into a small plastic bowl.

“I know, I know...working as fast as I can. I promise.”

He grabs a small spoon from the drying rack and then slides into a chair, stirring the baby food before scooping it up. With perfect precision aim, he shoves the spoon right into Nate’s open, screaming mouth at just the right moment. The baby’s lips clamp down and he sucks the food hard, and then his eyes go wide with surprise. Clint quickly feeds him again and he slurps more, now quiet and transfixed.

He’s not Laura, who can put him down in five seconds flat, but also, he doesn’t have breasts and free-flowing milk, and anyway, he’s totally handled this crisis. He’s almost proud.

“We’re having pasta _again_?”

Clint looks up as Cooper walks into the kitchen, putting the bowl on the table as he wipes his hands on his jeans. Nate gurgles happily, content for now, though Clint has a feeling it won’t last.

“What, you don’t like pasta?”

Cooper groans, climbing into his chair. “We’ve had pasta for the last three days.”

“Not true,” Clint returns defensively, and good god, he can’t believe he’s being defensive with an eight-year-old. “Yesterday we had mac and cheese. You love mac and cheese.”

“Still pasta,” Cooper mutters. Clint sighs as he finishes feeding Nathaniel, gets up, and moves to the stove. He takes a big bowl from the dishwasher and fills it with food.

“Look, I know this isn’t the stuff mom usually makes,” he says as he brings the bowl to the table. “But you gotta work with me, okay? I promise I’ll get better at cooking.”

Cooper looks up and nods, taking the open jar of tomato sauce and shaking it onto spaghetti strands. Clint leans back in the chair and watches his son prepare to eat before turning his attention to the baby, who smiles goofily. Clint smiles goofily in return.

“When’s Aunt Nat coming back?”

“Soon,” Clint answers a little more quickly than he means to. “Eat your dinner before mom yells at you.”

“Nah, she’ll yell at _you_ ,” Cooper points out as he twirls pasta onto his fork, and as Clint watches him bite into his food messily, all he can think of is that his son technically isn’t wrong.

 

***

 

They hadn’t stepped on the crack that had widened after Clint’s confession, not really, not until Laura had brought it up bluntly while she was laid up in bed right before Nathaniel was born.

“So, do you love Natasha now?”

It had hurt to hear those words come out of Laura’s mouth. It had hurt more to know that he had no way around them and he had to answer truthfully, as much as it gutted him to say it here, in his bedroom, in the one place he considered safe and secure and comforting.

“I don’t know.”

“Did you tell her that you thought you loved her?”

Clint had hesitated. “I told her I wanted to be with her. But that I couldn’t, because I was with you.”

Laura had stayed quiet for a long time, her hand moving against her stomach, up and down and up and down, a steady rhythm. “I love Natasha,” Laura had said finally. “I do. But I need her to be separate from us if we’re going to try to make things work, and if that’s really the way you feel. That’s not something I’m asking, Clint.”

And so the truth is, Natasha hasn’t been to the farm in over six months. Clint tries not to think about it. It would only make things worse, he knows, if he brought up to Laura that he missed her. Laura was Natasha’s best friend, but Natasha was now also “the other woman,” something more than an idea floating around in Clint’s mind that he had previously considered off-limits. Clint being honest about that had changed a few things, most notably, Natasha’s presence in their lives.

His kids noticed it. He could tell. Even when they were working and visitations were far and few between, Natasha had always been a constant presence. Laura would routinely call her, she would send presents and cards, and Clint would skype her her during bedtime rituals. None of that had happened since Clint had come back from New York, since he had admitted to Laura that he wasn’t sure if he still fit into this life anymore, that maybe life with Natasha was something he was more suited for -- that he had feelings for her. Legitimate, full-on attraction feelings that made him feel like he was cheating on his wife.

But if there was one thing he was determined to do in this situation, no matter how things turned out, it was to keep his kids out of it -- stuff with Natasha included. Just because he was a mess didn’t mean his children had to be. And if things with him and Laura _did_ end up going south, he wasn’t going to force them to undergo more therapy than would probably already need at that point.

For his part, he thinks he’s done a good job of attempting to separate his home life from his Avengers life. Unlike when he first came home from Sokovia, he hasn’t been gripped with the intense longing to be away from his family, and he’s tried hard not to think about what his life could be like if he had stayed in New York, continued training Wanda, and worked on missions and recons. Still, there was something missing, and as he sits at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, staring at his son who is doing homework in the living room and his daughter who is reading on the couch, he feels the guilt starting to creep in because he knows he won’t ever tell his children exactly how screwed up he is.

“I heard you had pasta again tonight,” Laura says as she balances the checkbook next to him, glasses sliding down her nose.

 _You too?_ Clint wants to grumble. Instead, he shrugs.

“I know it’s a cop-out. But it’s cooking, isn’t it? And I’m trying to take care of a baby. I mean, you know Nate barely stops crying for two seconds at a time.”

Laura gives him a look, and Clint knows she’s not going to say _I took care of two kids while I was pregnant and still managed to cook a three course meal that wasn’t noodles every day_ , because that would be adding salt to the wound that he’s so desperately trying scab over. But he sees the response in her eyes.

“Did you do your homework for this week?” Laura asks as she reaches for a pile of papers at the edge of the table. Clint looks at her in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Your homework,” Laura repeats in exasperation. “From the therapist. Remember?”

“Oh.” Clint feels his cheeks color because now that she’s saying it, he does remember. He also knows he’s completely forgotten to look at the packet that he’d been given a week ago, when they had gone to their last counseling appointment. “Um. I don’t think so.”

This time, Laura gives him a look that doesn’t hide her annoyance. “Are you serious?”

“What? I’ve been --”

“Busy?” Laura interrupts bitingly. “Honestly, Clint. You can remember sixteen different things when you’re in the field and your life's on the line, but you can’t remember to fill out a simple worksheet when you’re at home and doing nothing but watching our kids.”

Her words sting, if only because he knows they’re true. When he was working, he was the epitome of multi-tasking, able to fit an insane amount of knowledge into his brain and slot everything into compartments that worked together. Here, he wasn’t doing anything but getting up in the morning, helping with chores, and parenting his kids. He _wanted_ to work on this with Laura. So why couldn’t he remember to make the time for a stupid exercise that should take ten minutes, at the most?

“I know,” he says, taking a sip of coffee. “I’ll -- I’ll do it right now. Okay?” As if to prove his point, he grabs for the papers, shuffling through them until he finds the sheets he remembers shoving into the glove compartment. He takes the pen Laura’s been using and leans over, reading the questions as they lapse into silence. When he can’t shake the feeling that Laura won’t stop watching him, he sits back and looks up.

“I need to know you’re trying,” she says quietly, meeting his eyes. “I need to know you _want_ to try. Because otherwise, I don’t know what we’re doing.”

His throat burns with guilt, and with words he can’t force out. “I know,” he says softly, because he does. He’s not trying to make this harder than it has to be, but he feels like no matter what he says, she’s not going to believe that. He looks at Cooper and Lila, clutching the pen harder between his fingers.

At least he hasn’t mentioned Natasha, he finds himself thinking as he leans forward again, concentrating on the questions in front of him. At least there was that.

 

***

 

Later that night, Clint crawls into bed long after Laura’s already settled herself, though he knows she won’t say settled for long -- Nate’s sleeping schedule has fluctuated so much, they rarely got combined hours of more than single digits.

“So, you figure out when you wanna go up to the lake yet?” Clint asks almost too cheerily, pulling the covers over his legs. Laura puts down her book and turns to face him; Clint immediately steels himself -- nothing about her look screams _you’re in trouble_ but there’s no trace of the fact that nothing is wrong, either.

“Cold turkey,” Laura says, when she finally speaks. “We talked about this. And that’s what I need.”

“Okay,” Clint answers slowly. “I mean, I have --”

“Have you?”

The words aren’t exactly accusatory, but Clint still feels annoyed. “Haven’t I?” he asks, trying to keep himself from getting defensive. “I haven’t run off and tried to shoot. Natasha hasn’t visited in months -- she hasn’t even called, and I’m pretty sure Cooper’s gonna blow a gasket soon because of it. I haven’t opened an email from anyone about Avenger stuff. I haven’t asked to go back to New York. What else am I supposed to be doing to prove to you that I want to be here?”

“You can _talk_ to me,” Laura replies in the same quiet tone. “Because I don’t think we’ve really talked since you came back.”

They haven’t, Clint realizes, and therapy didn’t count -- for as much money as they were paying to have someone else provide opinions about their problems, they were often talking around the issues they really had.

“Look, it’s just…” He trails off, looking across the room, where his eyes land on a picture frame Natasha had given them a few years ago in celebration of their wedding anniversary. “How do I talk to you about liking someone who’s so close to both of us? I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“I don’t want you to either,” Laura admits. “But I think the damage has already been done. Unless you want to take back what you said to me about having feelings for Natasha.”

Clint shakes his head slowly. “I’m not taking it back,” he says, his stomach clenching as he says the words. “But I’m not -- you’re acting like this is a done deal, even though we’re supposed to be working on things.”

“We are working on things,” Laura confirms. “Therapy. Conversations. Couples exercises, as shitty and stupid as they are. But you’re not trying the same way I am, and I can see it. So how do you make me think this _isn’t_ a done deal, Clint?”

He closes his eyes, wincing internally at her bluntness. “I can try harder.”

“Do you _want_ to try harder?” Laura asks pointedly. “Or do you want to go back to Natasha? Because I think you’ll be even more upset with yourself if you’re not --”

“Fair?”

“Honest,” Laura finishes. “You said you wanted to make this work, and you specifically told me that you wanted to try.” She lets her gaze travel to the door, indicating Cooper and Lila’s rooms. “Can you live with not knowing what kind of person you want to be to me? To _them_?”

Clint shakes his head, and Laura smiles sadly.

“That’s what I thought.”

 

***

 

The day that everything starts to turn upside down, in Clint’s world, it’s like any other day of his life.

Cooper wakes up with a stomach ache in the middle of the night, and Clint spends most of the remaining hours soothing him and reading with him until he falls back asleep, while Laura goes back and forth taking care of Nate. In the morning, Laura takes Lila to school and Cooper to the pediatrician, and Clint’s morning is spent alternating between trying not to get spit up on or peed on while also trying to do the laundry he should have done days ago.

So when the doorbell rings softly, interrupting him from mixing what he’s decided is a truly disgusting concoction of mashed peas and carrots (he’ll never understand a baby’s penchant for liking certain combinations that should be otherwise outlawed), he’s so stuck in his dad zone that he doesn’t even think as he walks across the living room and opens the door.

“Nat -- hi.”

Natasha stands on the porch, her smile half apologetic and half genuine happiness, and pushes darkened hair behind her ear. “Hi.”

Clint swallows, not knowing what to say. What he _wants_ to say is, _I thought we had an agreement about cold turkey and you know coming here was out of the picture, I don’t care how close you are with Laura, I’m trying to save my marriage and you know this won’t help._

“Why are you here?”

Natasha side-steps him and walks inside, not asking if Laura’s around. Of course she doesn’t, Clint realizes as he closes the door. Natasha knew their family, their schedules, their life. Whether or not it was intentional, she knew Laura would be out of the house if she showed up at a certain time.

“I just wanted to catch up,” Natasha says, looking confused. “See Laura. See the kids. It’s been awhile. I had some free time, and I thought I’d make a visit. Besides, you know I can’t stay away.” There’s a slight tease in her voice, and Clint tries to smile.

“Yeah,” he says, finally giving in to the feelings he’s been trying to stave off, because what the hell. It’s not like touching his partner was out of the question, and Laura wasn’t here right now anyway. He steps forward and hugs her tightly.

“I missed you.”

He feels Natasha smile against him. “Takes one to know one,” she replies, pulling away. “Now where’s my spawn?”

Clint laughs and leads her into the kitchen, where Nathaniel is sitting in his highchair and banging his hands against the plastic tray. Natasha walks over and picks him up, wrestling him out of the straps and bouncing him against her shoulder.

“I heard you’re being a little troublemaker,” she says as she walks around the kitchen. Clint smiles, his heart expanding with emotion, and motions to the counter.

“Hey, I know it’s early, but do you want some coffee? I can heat it up if it’s too cold --”

He’s reaching for a spare mug but stops when he hears the door open again. Anticipation creeps into his gut, and he realizes it’s been years since he’s been worried or nervous about Natasha being in his house.

“Clint?” Laura’s voice sounds light and happy. “Cooper seems fine, I took him to school after all but I’ll probably pick him up early. I got up the dry cleaning so you don’t have to worry about that later when you go get Lila -- _oh_.”

Laura stops in surprise when she enters the kitchen and sees Natasha, and Clint watches her eyes flicker to each of them as she takes in the scene in front of her. He immediately feels awkward at what he knows his wife is seeing: Natasha holding the baby in her arms, him making coffee and wandering around with his shirt off like it’s no big deal, like they’re the domestic family and Laura is the outsider. He’s never felt bad about sharing moments like this with Natasha before, but after what they’ve talked about, Clint knows this has to be the most selfish of all selfish things to witness.

And _fuck_ , how could he think that this wouldn’t be an issue? How dumb was he? He was trying to be a better husband. A better father. How could he stand here and think that Laura watching a scene like this wouldn’t be hurtful?

“Hi,” Natasha says hesitantly, giving her a small smile, and Clint’s heart suddenly aches for an entirely different reason. Natasha had to know this whole intrusion was tricky, but at the same time, he knew how she felt about Laura as a friend and as a person. Even though she knew the position Clint was unintentionally putting her in, it didn’t mean that Natasha didn’t still care about his wife.

“Hi,” Laura says softly, and after a moment, she moves and hugs Natasha. Clint feels his chest loosen slightly as they embrace.

“I didn’t mean to mess up your schedule,” Natasha says as she hands Laura her child. “I just wanted to stop by, since it’s been awhile. I missed you.”

Laura smiles, shifting Nate easily into one arm. “I missed you, too. I wish I had known you were coming. I would’ve made a bigger breakfast.”

“I can manage,” Natasha replies. “Or I can stay out of your way, if --”

“No,” Laura says quickly. “No, of course not.” She reaches for Natasha’s hand with her free one. “It’s alright.”

Clint tries to remove himself from the exchange as much as he can, quickly offering to take the baby so Laura can do things around the house so Natasha can settle in. Maybe, he thinks, there’s some sort of peace offering in letting Natasha and Laura interact on their own without him being involved.

Clint busies himself with doing what he should be doing as a stay-at-home dad. He cleans the bathroom, he changes his son’s diaper, he puts him down for a nap. He organizes a few bills and makes some notes about their money management, and he goes to comfort his son when he wakes up crying. He changes another diaper, and he runs point on being the one who actually pays attention to the time so Laura can leave to pick their children up from school.

He’s sitting in the living room, trying to relax, when Natasha approaches him again.

“I have something to ask you.”

“And you couldn’t tell me over the phone?” Clint asks as he glances up from a magazine.

Natasha shakes her head. “Not really. I wanted to do this in person.”

Clint’s stomach nosedives so much he thinks he might throw up, and he drops the magazine on his lap like it’s a burning match. “I can’t, okay? Laura and I are still working things out, and I --”

“No,” Natasha interrupts, her eyebrows shooting up. She walks forward and takes his hand. “No, Clint, that’s not -- I’m not asking what you think I’m asking. Jesus, calm down.”

He doesn’t realize how fast his heart has been beating and how nervous he’s been or how on edge this whole exchange has made him feel, not until she touches him reassuringly. He takes a deep breath, steadying his emotions and his body.

“Sorry,” he apologizes as he composes himself. What did you come here to tell me?”

“There’s a job,” Natasha says carefully. “In Lagos. Three days, tops.”

“Uh huh.” Clint fights to keep his voice and face neutral. Natasha swallows in the silence, and it sounds like a gunshot.

“We’d love to have you along. I mean, if you’re interested.”

Clint shrugs. “Not really,” he says in the same monotone voice, getting up from the couch. Natasha follows him into the kitchen.

“I know you’re not supposed to get back into the field,” she continues quietly. “I’m not trying to rock that boat. It’s just...it’s Wanda, and I just thought you’d want to know.”

Clint looks up, furrowing his brow. “Wanda. She’s going out?”

Natasha nods. “Steve’s sending her into Lagos with us for some recon. First official spy mission.” Natasha’s voice exudes pride, but Clint can’t make himself match her emotion. He exhales loudly, slumping into a chair.

“I can’t.” He glares at her. “You _know_ that I can’t, Nat. And you’re supposed to be letting me off the hook, remember? I’m retired.”

“I know,” Natasha repeats. “I know that, Clint. I’m just saying --”

“You’re just saying what?” Clint asks, now frustrated at both the situation and his inability to feel settled about being okay with letting Wanda and Natasha work without him. “You came here just to ask me to come back into the field, and I _told_ you, I’m trying to work out my marriage! I can’t go back out, even if it’s for less than three days!”

“I’m just _saying_ ,” Natasha snaps back. “I thought you’d want me to ask you, since you have a responsibility to Wanda the same way you have a responsibility to anyone else you decide to take care of in your life.”

Clint sets his mouth in a straight line and gets up, pacing around the room. “You have a lot of nerve coming here and asking me this,” he says finally, his voice sharp. “Are you _trying_ to break up my marriage? Is that what you want?”

“Of course not,” Natasha retorts. “You’re being ridiculous, Clint. I’m doing what I’ve done the entire time we’ve been partners. I’m giving you a choice. You don’t get out of having that choice just because you’re retired.”

“Well, maybe I should get out of that choice!” Clint replies angrily, gesturing around the kitchen. “Look at me, Natasha! I’m a fucking father! I can’t be a father and a guy with a bow at the same time. And I can’t go to Lagos, and you need to stop coming here and asking me things like this, and you need to stop assuming that I’m going to drop everything for you just because I want to be with you!”

Natasha stares at him unflinchingly, her eyes narrowing in the silence that follows. “I never said I was forcing you to come to Lagos,” she says, her words thick and even. “You’re a grown man, Clint. You can do what you want.” She lets the words hang in the air, the tension growing between them, and Clint doesn’t start again because he has a feeling she’s not done.

Sure enough, when Natasha speaks again, her words hit him harder than the rage in her voice does.

“But consider how it feels to ask someone something knowing that it’s selfish, because they can’t possibly have what they want.”

 

***

 

Natasha leaves before the kids get home, but not before she drops off an absolute trove of gifts in their room for Cooper and Lila and Nate. She calls Laura from the road and Laura promises to distribute them accordingly, but Clint notices she almost breathes a sigh of relief when Natasha is finally out of the house, even though their conversation is soft and genuine.

“Can we talk?” Laura asks after they’ve put Cooper and Lila to bed. She’s in the middle of changing Nate’s diaper and her actions are casual, but her voice doesn’t betray the fact that Clint knows what she wants to talk about is serious.

“Again?”

Laura raises her eyebrows and Clint suddenly realizes how he sounds. “Sorry. Just...Nat asked me to talk earlier when she was here.”

“About what?” Laura asks in the same flat tone. Clint sighs, leaning against the wall.

“There’s a job in Lagos. Three days, tops. They’re sending Wanda out for the first time, and she wanted to know if I could come.”

Laura nods, but doesn’t say anything.

“I told her no, Laura. Obviously, I did.”

“Good,” Laura says quietly, leaning over to kiss Nate before picking him up. “That’s what we talked about.”

It’s an ending to the conversation, but something in her tone suggests that she’s not entirely okay with the exchange being dropped like this, and he frowns.

“You said you didn’t blame her.”

“What?” Laura’s putting Nate down in his bassinet, and she turns around at his words.

“Natasha,” Clint continues. “When we talked about this for the first time, you said you didn’t blame her.”

“I didn’t. I don’t,” Laura corrects, moving to sit on the bed. Clint pushes a hand through his hair.

“So you just blame me, then? And you’re punishing Natasha just because you can? I mean, that’s what this sounds like.”

“I don’t blame you, and I’m not punishing _anyone_ ,” Laura responds. “If that’s the way you’re really thinking about this, then maybe you need to ask yourself who you’re really angry at. But _I_ am angry. Am I not allowed to be angry?”

Clint looks at his wife and nods in resignation. “Of course you are,” he says slowly, joining her on the bed. “Laura, I swear I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“I’d argue that you’re not trying, period,” Laura says, finality clear in her voice. Clint swallows against a dry throat.

“Is this because Natasha came to visit?”

Laura doesn’t respond, and Clint grits his teeth. “Fine,” he snaps. “Call me an idiot, but after all of this, I didn’t realize that apparently visits from the person we named our _son_ after were filed under cold turkey.”

Laura’s face is so much sadness and shock, Clint can’t help but feel like he’s said something incredibly wrong. “Honestly, Clint. What part of literally any amount of Natasha is too much Natasha right now don’t you understand?”

It’s as if he’s been slapped in the face, and for a moment, he’s too stunned to respond. “All of it,” he says finally, shaking his head. “She’s your best friend, Laura.”

“Yes, she is,” Laura agrees. “But if I had a choice between preserving this family -- preserving our _marriage_ and our life here -- and never seeing Natasha again…” She looks down at the floor. “I know what I’d choose. And I know that’s not what you would choose.”

Clint can’t see his own face, he knows his features have gone slack. “Jesus, Laura. You can’t be serious.”

“If that makes me a bad person, then fine,” Laura says tiredly. “But I’m allowed to have my own feelings about this. Natasha is a good person, Clint. She’ll always mean something to me and you and to our children.” She pauses. “But sometimes, you have to make decisions about what’s important to you, and they’re not always easy.”

Clint bites down on his lip. He feels like anything he’s going to say right now will get thrown back in his face, but he also feels like he’s got no good argument for going against the grain, and he doesn’t want to do this back and forth fighting all night.

“Let’s go to the lake.”

Laura rolls her eyes. “Now?”

“Next week,” Clint decides, getting up. “Kids have a long weekend, right? We’ll go up there and get some last minute summer fun in before the cold comes. We’ll be out of the house, and no one can find us there. Maybe it’ll be good for us to go away.”

Laura nods slowly, getting up. “Okay,” she allows, before walking out of the room. Clint hears the bathroom door close, and he flops back on the bed once he knows he’s alone.

By the time Laura comes back to the bedroom, he’s forced himself to fall asleep, and for the first time in awhile he finds the promise of dreamland more comforting anything going on in his life right now.

 

***

 

The good news (the only good news) about the Lagos mission is that because it’s not a real Avengers mission, it’s not really newsworthy and therefore it doesn’t need to be discussed. He knows he could parrot on about how he was concerned for Wanda, because at least that was legitimate, but at this point he feels like Laura will just see it as a ruse to really talk about Natasha -- even though Clint being worried about Natasha on a recon mission at this stage in their relationship was as stupid as being worried about an adult crossing the street.

He hadn’t talked to Natasha since she left the house, and he feels bad about that, because it’s not like they left on the best of terms with their semi-argument. But whenever he picks up the phone to type a text or look up her number, he hears Laura’s voice in the back of his mind, and he talks himself out of contacting her.

He doesn’t know when this got so hard. He doesn’t know when Laura had reached such a breaking point that even _looking_ at Natasha, much less talking about her, had become something that was an issue. He suspects it’s because he’s finally opened up and admitted that there were feelings there, and now that that was in the open, it was harder to forget that she was a competition of sorts. And Clint knows that the easier thing to do would have been to stay silent, but how could he stay silent about something that was eating him up so much? It wasn’t fair to Laura that he would kiss her and think of Natasha, and it wasn’t fair to Natasha that he _wouldn’t_ kiss her because he felt bad about Laura. Either way he sliced it, the situation was a mess, and he knows that as much as he’s denying it, he’s going to have to take a side at some point. No amount of marriage counseling or yelling was going to change that fact.

Since he’s home and committed to being home, though, he tries to find ways to be helpful. He offers to do most of the shopping for their trip to the lake, which involves taking a trip to CostCo, a place he’s sworn he wouldn’t set foot in for at least a year. By the time he gets home, juggling way too many bulk items including soda, diapers, chips, and coffee, he’s long past his tolerance of overachieving soccer moms who push their way through his check-out line and over-exuberant teenagers grabbing candy bars and pop tarts for their parents’ carts. He’s almost glad when the phone rings, because it gives him a chance to do something other than sort through sixteen million bags while Cooper and Lila watch television in the living room, completely unaware that they should probably be helping their dad. In retrospect, Clint knows he should be enforcing this with strict parenting, but for better or for worse, he doesn’t want to put in the effort right now.

“Hello,” he says when he picks up the house line, shoving the phone between his ear and his shoulder. He expects Laura, she’s at a doctor’s appointment with Nathaniel and then she was doing errands, so maybe she forgot something. He expects his parents-in-law, a telemarketer, someone from Cooper’s school or Lila’s girl scout troop.

He doesn’t expect Natasha.

“Clint.” She’s talking quietly, but there’s a sense of urgency hidden in her voice that he can’t miss. “I know I’m not supposed to call you, but there was a situation.”

The moment she says the words, Clint’s insides seize up. If Natasha was calling, it meant she was probably okay. But it meant that someone else wasn’t, and there was only one other person Clint would care about that Natasha would call to alert him of.

“What happened?” he asks, continuing to unpack groceries. He knows he can’t just abandon his children and run out of the house to talk, but at this point, he’s able to have conversations like this in plain sight of his family, as if nothing is wrong.

“Wanda made some mistakes in the field,” Natasha says, and Clint can tell that she’s intentionally trying to cover up the real issue by sugar coating her explanation as much as possible. “A few people were hurt. But it wasn’t intentional, Clint.”

Clint’s throat seizes up. “How bad?”

“Some civilians,” Natasha replies. “She was just trying to defend herself. She didn’t realize how powerful she could be, and the whole situation just got out of hand.”

Cooper and Lila laugh loudly at something in the background, and the sound jars him out of the conversation. He blocks it out, trying to wrap his head around Natasha’s words.

“Is she okay?”

“Depends on what you mean by okay,” Natasha says ominously. “She’s shaken up, and she knows she’s been put in the spotlight by her actions, which doesn’t help. But she’ll probably be fine.”

Natasha’s words are meant to be reassuring, but it’s not nearly enough. “Is this --”

“No,” Natasha breaks in. “Don’t think that this happened because you weren’t there. You couldn’t do anything more than what you taught her. It’s fieldwork. Things happen, Clint. You know that.”

“Yeah, but I thought you were supposed to be teaching her during this mission,” he says, lowering his voice. “Not throwing her into active fire.”

Natasha’s quiet for a long time on the other end of the line. “We weren’t there,” she says after a moment. “We were -- I was caught up trying to take down another group of Crossbones’ guys, and Cap --”

“So no one was there. And you left her alone,” Clint confirms, walking away and forgetting about the groceries.

“No one left her alone,” Natasha replies. “We were _all_ out there fighting. But we also weren’t going to babysit her, because she didn’t need to be coddled in the field. And if she did, she’d be even more upset.”

Natasha continues to talk but Clint starts to tune out what she’s saying; part of him doesn’t want to hear it and the other part is too focused on the words that are pounding themselves into his brain. _If you were there, if you were there, if you were there…_

Natasha was right, though, as much as he didn’t want her to be. What could he have done if he had been there with her? Even if he was helping her fight, he couldn’t actually control her. Whatever she did came from her own feelings and emotions, and he couldn’t have predicted anything that set her off, much as he could have tried.

“Clint.” Natasha has apparently been saying his name for longer than a minute, and he blinks, coming back to the conversation. There’s more laughter from the living room, and Clint recognizes the theme song of _Family Feud_.

“Yeah.”

“There’s going to be some sort of meeting soon, to talk about everything that happened. I don’t know what it’s going to be, but I’m not going to call you every five seconds to update you.”

In other words, she gave him this courtesy call because of Wanda, because that’s what he deserved after the amount of investment he had put into their relationship. Because it’s what she would do as a partner and a friend. But she’s not going to continue to pull him into this life with the way she would if he was just sitting out a fight for whatever reason, like the old days.

“Okay,” he says, not knowing what else he can offer. “Okay, yeah. Um. Tell her I’m here if, you know --”

“I will,” Natasha says, cutting him off. And then, just like that, she’s gone and Clint is alone, and his children are laughing at something else and the window outside of his bubble snaps, and the last few seconds feel like they’ve taken place in some sort of dream.

“Fuck,” he mutters, well under his breath and out of earshot of his children, even though he still jumps when a small hand suddenly tugs on his pants.

“I have to go to the bathroom, daddy.”

Clint fights the urge to ask the obvious question that would surely get him kicked out of the house (“Lila, you know how to go to the bathroom”) because then Laura would remind him (and he would remember) that she was going through a phase where she didn’t like to go upstairs alone.

“Alright. Come on, baby.”

He takes his daughter’s hand and climbs the stairs, leaving Cooper sprawled out on the couch. While Lila uses the bathroom, Clint stands outside and resists the urge to duck into the bedroom and find a way to check the news, because sue him but at least this warranted it.

“All done?” Clint asks when Lila opens the door with a big smile, blowing kisses in thanks. He smiles back, unable to help himself, because damn, it sucked. He may be a shit father who couldn’t decide which woman he wanted to be with, but at his core, he deeply loved his children and the way they loved him back, despite all his fuck-ups. He lets Lila go back downstairs but instead of following, he retreats to his room and pulls out his laptop, quickly scanning headlines.

 _Explosion in Lagos Leaves Multiple Dead. Avengers Mission Goes Wrong In Lagos. 26 Dead in Lagos Explosion, 11 Wakandans Missing._ His stomach churns over the headlines and pictures, and he snaps the laptop shut in frustration and anger. It’s almost entirely fitting that by the time he gets back downstairs, Laura’s on her way in, because she’s definitely going to find something to yell at him about.

“Clint, the _groceries_.”

Her voice is cross but he ignores it, trying to concentrate and throw himself back into domesticity. He feels like he’s moving in slow motion as he goes back to unpacking and putting things away, barely paying attention to where he’s placing the items until Laura snatches an overlarge pack of frozen potatoes away from his hands.

“Come outside. Now.”

The demand in her voice is sharp, so he doesn’t bother to protest as he follows her out the back door that leads to the yard. Laura closes the door quietly behind them, her face a mixture of annoyance and worry.

“What the hell is going on right now? This is off, even for you.”

She sounds angry, and he tries not to take it personally. He wasn’t supposed to be doing any kind of work, so for her, him being “off” like this was just as much about him being an annoying brat as opposed to acting a certain way because he _was_ upset about something that related to the Avengers or Natasha.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, knowing that it won’t do much good to apologize unless he talks about why they’re having this conversation in the first place. He debates leading with “Natasha called” before he realizes that probably won’t put Laura in the best mood, all things considered. So he thinks for a moment before he continues.

“Got a call about that mission in Lagos. There was an accident…it involved Wanda.” 

Laura’s face changes at the mention of Wanda, and he knows why. Natasha was one thing, but Wanda -- they both felt the same way about Wanda, who wasn’t an interference to their marriage but rather someone who deserved guidance and a home.

“What happened to Wanda?”

Clint starts talking. He tells her about the botched mission, the headlines, the number of people dead, the news reports. He leaves Natasha out of it except to mention that she had been part of the recon mission, along with Steve and Sam. Laura listens without opening her mouth, her face unchanging, nodding every so often to show she’s still paying attention and not tuning him out.

“And that’s all you know?”

He considers adding Natasha’s ominous warning about the meeting, but nixes that idea. It was probably some dumb thing that would be overblown, anyway.

“Yeah. That’s all I know.”

Laura reaches out and pulls him in for a hug, and he reaches back easily and without hesitation. For all his stupid feelings lately, for all the issues he had with wanting to be with someone who wasn’t his wife, he can’t ignore the fact that he did love Laura, and he _did_ care about her, and she still felt comfortable to him.

She still, especially at times like this, felt like home.

“Come back inside,” Laura urges gently when she breaks away. “We’ll have an early dinner and do a movie night with the kids. It’ll help.”

Clint’s not exactly sure about that, but Laura always seemed to be right about certain things. And even though he feels like everything's falling apart around him and he can’t explain why, he knows that somehow, sitting on the couch with two children curled up in his lap while fantasy plays out in front of them will help, at least for a little.

It's not the worst thing in the world, to have that outlet. But it doesn’t mean he’s not going to be thinking about Wanda, or what Natasha is doing that he can’t be a part of, because he can’t have that life right now.

Clint sighs, and follows Laura back into the house.

 

***

 

Clint hates couples therapy. Not because he doesn’t want to work on things -- he does, he really does -- but everything about it feels forced. He hates talking to someone else about his problems, and he hates feeling judged for things that he also thinks someone should have no business knowing about. At least Laura, for her part, knew that he was less than keen about talking to someone about their problems, but she had also admitted to him that she didn’t know what else to do. Clint didn’t blame her. He felt bad enough that she was doing the legwork to save their marriage in the first place; the least he could do was follow through on what she was asking of them.

His phone rings while Laura is taking a shower, long after they’ve put Cooper and Lila to bed, and a quick glance at the caller ID on his cell reveals it’s Natasha.

“You told me you wouldn’t call me again,” he says by way of greeting, trying not to feel bad about being so blunt. It wasn’t his fault Laura had proposed the “any amount of Natasha is too much Natasha” moratorium.

“And I didn’t,” Natasha returns.

Clint rolls his eyes at the ceiling. “Okay, what do you call this, then?”

“I call it giving you a heads up about the state of our team,” she replies. “A team that you technically still belong to, so I believe you should get a heads up when things get fucked. We had a meeting, about what happened in Lagos. They proposed some Accords -- laws that would keep us under government regulation as superheroes.”

“They -- SHIELD?” Clint asks, even though there’s no more SHIELD. He knew as well as Natasha did that there were enough people working underground, though, and it wouldn’t be out of the question for them to come out of the woodwork after Wanda’s situation.

“No,” Natasha says impatiently. “Not SHIELD. General Ross. We had to make a decision on whether or not to sign the bill. They gave us some time, but they’re not going to wait forever for a decision.” She stops to take a breath. “If anyone asks, I’m going to tell them you’re retired.”

It takes a moment for him to realize what she’s saying and he blinks in surprise at the open room, forgetting about his worry that Laura will come back and find him talking to the one person she can’t stand at the moment.

“You decided to make that decision for me?”

“Was I not supposed to?” Natasha’s voice turns icy. “Last time I saw you, you made it pretty clear that you weren’t getting off your couch anytime soon.”

“And _you_ made it pretty clear that you weren’t calling me about work anymore!” Clint returns hotly. “So you don’t get off on calling the shots about my life when I’m not _in_ that life!”

“Really, Clint.” Natasha’s voice is dripping with frustration. “What would you have done, if you were there? Sided with the law? Asked for oversight knowing Wanda had been treated the way she did, like a killer who deserves to be locked up because she couldn’t control her powers?”

“Of course not,” Clint says automatically. “I would’ve protested. It’s the stupidest law I’ve ever heard.”

“Then you would’ve gone against me. And I don’t think you would’ve wanted to do that, either.”

“You --" Clint’s eyes narrow at the wall, his head spinning from his words. “You _signed_ that stupid thing?”

Natasha suddenly falls quiet. “It’s not what you think,” she says slowly when she speaks again. “I just needed -- I needed some time, Clint. I needed --”

“You needed oversight,” Clint interrupts. “You, the person who told the government to go kiss your ass.”

Natasha’s laughs dryly. “Sam said the same thing.” 

Clint snorts. “Yeah, well. He’s not wrong.” He rubs his eyes until they burn. “So you’re really going to sign these Accords?”

“Eventually,” Natasha says. This time, there’s another edge to her voice, but it’s harder for him to pick up. “Peggy -- Agent Carter. She died...Steve got a call this morning. It’s -- I guess it was sudden, but I don’t really know the details. I’m going to the funeral in London.”

Clint feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He hadn’t known Peggy that well, but he’d known enough to know that she was important to Steve, and he didn’t envy his friend for having to deal with that loss when Peggy was probably the last real link from his past.

“So you’re going to London with Steve,” he says when he’s gathered his thoughts enough to speak. Somehow, reinforcing details made him feel better, and more in control.

“Yes. Sam’s coming, too. I’ll fly to Vienna for a meeting after that.”

“And who’s staying with Wanda?”

Natasha hesitates. “Vision is at the compound with her. I think she’ll be okay, for now.”

The boulder sitting in Clint’s gut starts to feel heavier, and he hates himself in this moment for being here, for standing in his cozy house and living his cushy domestic life while Wanda is alone, and while his teammates deal with real life things like government oversight and personal loss. His real life, meanwhile, is trying to figure out how many hot dogs they’re going to eat over the course of five days while they’re on vacation.

“Clint,” Natasha says irritably. “Get your head out of depressed mode. I’m signing off for real now, and we’re not going to talk about this again.”

She’s off the phone before he can respond, and he has the phone back in his pocket before Laura walks back into the room, toweling off her hair. She passes Clint and kisses him gently on the cheek, smiling, and Clint tries to smile back.

 

***

 

No matter how he feels about Laura or Natasha, Clint loves his kids. He loves them a truly insane amount. But to say they drive him batty would be an understatement, and he’s known enough other parents to not feel bad about thinking that.

They were supposed to leave for the lake two hours ago, but they’re still trying to get themselves out of the house. Lila had initiated a meltdown over not being able to find her favorite sparkle shoes, and neither Clint or Laura had been able to calm her down until Laura promised to go out and buy a replica pair, which is where she’s been for the past hour. Cooper had, understandably, been annoyed with Lila’s tantrums, and it had fallen to Clint to both calm his daughter and talk down his son, while Laura consented to taking Nate with her so he wasn’t completely overwhelmed.

Fortunately, Lila’s screaming means she’s worn herself out, and she’s now collapsed on the couch, sleeping soundly. Now, all Clint has to do is wait for Laura to get home.

“Hey, dad!” Cooper looks up with a grin. “I’m gonna go waterskiing when we get to the lake.”

“Oh, yeah?” Clint looks up just in time to see Cooper stealthily reaching his hand forward, towards the bag that Clint knows holds most of the cookies and chips that they’re taking with them.

“Hey, hey, come on,” he pleads. “Mom is gonna kill me.”

Cooper looks up with guilty eyes at having been caught red-handed, and Clint sighs, glancing at the clock. How long did it take to find new shoes, anyway? It wasn’t like Laura didn’t know where to go, they only sold Lila’s favorite pair at a few stores.

“Mom would let me have cookies while we waited,” Cooper offers nonchalantly, and Clint rolls his eyes.

“Nice try, dude. I know I haven’t been the best dad lately, but even I know you’re trying to trick me into believing that.”

Cooper makes a face, and Clint sighs.

“Look, you wanna watch something until we’re ready to go?”

Cooper’s eyes light up, and he scrambles off the floor, grabbing for the remote. Clint knows he’s doing just as bad a thing as if were allowing his son to eat a dozen cookies in the middle of the day, but whatever. It’s not like they kept their screen time to much of a minimum anyway.

“Just keep it low so your sister doesn’t wake up,” he says as he gets up himself, figuring he might as well grab the bags and start organizing. He’s just picked up his own suitcase when something in the background catches his attention, and he realizes it’s part of a news program Cooper must have channel surfed onto while trying to find his usual cartoons.

“Hey, what was that?” Clint asks innocently as he puts the bag down.

“Dunno,” Cooper replies offhandedly. He leans forward, now transfixed on _Paw Patrol_ , but Clint feels suddenly uneasy. Something doesn’t feel right, and he’s had enough of those feelings that he knows he can’t shake it.

He makes sure Lila is still sleeping soundly and then ducks into the small study adjacent from the living room, closing the door behind him. He sits down at Laura’s computer and it doesn’t take him long to for him to confirm his suspicions, his heart dropping into his stomach as he scours CNN for the latest headlines -- now, Clint notes, at least two days old, but still considered breaking news.

 _Multiple Dead After Bombing at Sokovia Accords Signing. King of Wakanda and More Dead After Explosion. Winter Soldier At Large, Suspect In Sokovia Accords Bombing._ If Wanda’s accident in Lagos and the subsequent headlines had made him feel sick, these make him feel like he’s going to pass out. Clint immediately reaches for the phone, punching in Natasha’s number.

“Pick up,” he mutters into the phone as it continues to ring. “Come _on_ , pick up, pick up, pick up.”

“Hello.”

Her voice is tired, worn down, and raspier than usual. But Clint has talked to Natasha enough times when she’s been injured, and he can easily tell the difference between dire situations and liveable stab wounds. He lets out his own shaky breath.

“Jesus, don’t fucking _do_ that.”

“Don’t do what? Get blown up?” Natasha asks warily. “I assume you heard and that’s why you’re calling. I was hoping you wouldn’t hear.”

“Are you serious?” Clint asks, appalled. “Nat, for fuck’s sake, this didn’t happen _yesterday_! Am I just supposed to not know if you’ve _died_?”

“How did you even find out about this?” Natasha asks, deflecting his question. “Word on the street is the news dropped it fairly quickly, thanks to Ross.”

“I heard someone talking about it on TV. I’m home with Cooper. We were supposed to leave for the lake a few hours ago, but Lila had a meltdown. I -- fucking hell, Natasha. You almost died!”

“Well, I didn’t,” Natasha replies. “I’m fine, Clint. It’s not like I’ve never almost been blown up before. Or been the target of some terrorist attack, for that matter.”

 _I know_ , Clint wants to say. _But I wasn’t there. And usually, I’m there._ It would be an empty argument, in the end, because there were plenty of times during their partnership when they weren’t together and bad shit went down. The difference was that even if he wasn’t there physically, he was still _there_. He was active, he was involved, he was running out the door at a moment’s notice. He never felt the way he did now -- helpless, abandoned, out of touch, hands tied.

He hates that he blames Laura for this -- as if she had forced him into marriage and kids and a house or anything that he’s been lucky enough to have over the past few years. If anything, he should place the blame on himself for not realizing his ability to balance his life sooner.

“Look, Clint, I can’t do this right now,” Natasha continues. “I have damage control to handle. I have to find -- I have to figure things out, or no one else will.”

 _I have to actually do my job, and my job doesn’t include you_ , is what Clint hears even though he knows that’s not what Natasha is actually saying.

“Right. I get it. Be safe, okay?”

He expects her to drop at least some kind of retort before she hangs up, but she doesn’t, and he hangs up the phone and shuts down the laptop slowly.

She was okay. That was what mattered, wasn’t it? Wanda wasn’t there, so he didn’t have to worry about her, and Steve, he was superhuman and could survive anything. But Natasha...Natasha was like him. Natasha wasn’t powerful or enhanced. Natasha could have been killed, or at the very least, seriously injured. And if anything had happened, the last conversation that he would have had with her would have been an icy argument about his own priorities.

His hands start to tingle. He gets up, reaching behind him, before he realizes he’s moved his bow and his stash of arrows to a more secure hiding place after coming back from New York. That awareness frustrates him so much that he immediately picks up the phone again and punches in another number.

“Barton.” The voice on the other end sounds surprised, and a little out of breath. “Didn’t expect to hear from you.”

“Yeah, well. I’m retired.”

“Yeah,” Steve repeats. “You’re retired.”

In the resulting silence, Clint lets out a breath. “I heard about the explosion at the Accords signing. Just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“I’m okay,” Steve says. “I wasn’t at the building when the attack happened. Clint, I have to go.”

It’s the second time today that someone on his team has blown him off, and even if that’s not Steve’s intention, Clint suddenly can’t take it anymore. He speaks before he thinks about it, before he can even comprehend what his words mean, his mouth not bothering to wait for his brain.

“I want to come help.”

Steve sighs loudly. “Clint, it’s okay. Really. This isn’t your fight.”

“Like hell it’s not,” Clint barks into the phone. “Wanda’s accident in Lagos -- I should’ve been there. And something is clearly going on with these Accords, the team’s all gone to shit and yes, don’t think I don’t know that, because I may be retired, but I also know bullshit when I hear it. Natasha’s alone and almost got blown up by some suicide bomber psycho soldier man --”

“That suicide bomber psycho soldier man may not be the answer to your anger,” Steve says a little too calmly, but dwelling on why he doesn’t sound concerned isn’t at the forefront of Clint’s mind. “And Natasha can take care of herself.”

“That’s not the point,” Clint argues. “Cap, I need help. I _want_ to help.” He pauses, and makes sure he does think about his next words, because saying them out loud and taking the time to make sure he knows what he’s saying will make a difference in whatever comes after.

“Tell me how I can help.”

For a long time, Steve doesn’t respond. Clint paces the room, trying to concentrate, as the _Paw Patrol_ theme song grows louder in the resounding silence.

“If you’re serious about coming out here, we could use you.”

And there it is -- _we could use you_. The first time someone other than Natasha thought that he still had value, that being retired didn’t mean he had to give up his skills, that he wasn’t forgotten and cast aside like someone who was living a life that had no relevance to anything else.

“I’m going to need you to help with something that involves someone you might not like,” Steve continues. “You can get Wanda and bring her to Berlin. She’s still in New York, and she probably won’t leave without a push.” Steve pauses. “She trusts you.”

“Done,” Clint replies without hesitation. “I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.”

It’s easier to breathe once he hangs up, like a weight has been lifted off his chest, but he can’t figure out if that’s because he’s finally put the stamp on a decision that he’s been avoiding for the past half a year, or if it’s because he knows that the people he cares about haven’t forgotten about him entirely. He puts his head in his hands, letting the familiar adrenaline of new mission excitement wear off, the feeling replaced with a surge of guilt that only intensifies as he comes back to himself and raises his head to look around the room -- the artwork hung crookedly on the walls and the multiple empty coffee cups on the desk. Cooper’s cartoons playing in the next room, the visual image of Lila sleeping on the couch, fully-dressed and ready for vacation. The apple cider sitting in the fridge that Laura had made; the carton that Clint remembers seeing earlier in the morning when he went looking for milk.

What the hell was he doing? Following through on what he wanted to do meant leaving his family with no warning, though in all honesty, it wouldn’t be a different situation than any other time he’s rushed out the door before dinner or after dessert. But after retiring, it meant that there would be more questions than usual.

It also most certainly meant that Laura would see this decision as the final nail in the coffin, regardless of couples therapy or promises not to see Natasha anymore.

He stands up, coming back into the living room to find not much has changed. Cooper’s still lying on the couch and Lila’s still sleeping, though Clint can tell from the way she’s moving that she’s starting to come awake. He looks around, trying to settle his mind -- he had to get his bow, his uniform, he had to at least grab a few other important things if he really was going away, not to mention his passport just in case -- but he knows he can’t do anything until Laura gets home, so he joins Cooper on the couch.

“Find the shoes?” Clint asks when she finally returns, a sleeping Nate slumped forward on her chest, secure in his baby bjorn. Laura holds up a bag in response, then frowns when she notices the scene in front of her.

“Lila’s still asleep and we’re supposed to be ready to leave,” she says as he gets up and helps take Nate out of the baby carrier, allowing Laura to move around more freely. “And why is Cooper watching television? I don’t understand why you can’t figure out what is and isn’t smart parenting, Clint.”

Clint shrugs and passes it off as not wanting to wake the baby. As he puts Nate down in his playpen, Laura walks to the couch and sits down, gently urging her daughter awake with soft talking, showing her the shoes she’s picked up. Clint decides to use the moment to escape the bedroom without questions, grabbing a duffel bag from underneath the bed. He takes a bunch of clothes out of the drawer, grabs an extra gun, and then quickly locates his uniform, hidden in an alcove in the back of the closet. Once he’s mostly packed, he drags a stepstool into the large walk-in closet and retrieves his bow and a stash of arrows from a high shelf.

“Clint?” Laura’s voice sounds far away, but Clint knows it’s only faint because she’s still traveling up the stairs. “Are you ready?”

He knows there’s nothing he can do right now -- he’s made up his mind and this is his decision -- and so he doesn’t try to hide the bag in his hand or the bow case at his feet, the most obvious declaration of getting the hell out of dodge he could portray right now. When Laura opens the door, her face morphs from confused to furious to worried. She’s got a backpack hanging off of one arm, the sweatpants she normally wears when they take long trips together, and Clint wants to scream because he knows that he could fix this right now if he wanted to. He’d be in the doghouse for a few years, but it wouldn’t mean everything had to just end.

“What are you doing with your bow?”

He swallows against a dry throat. “Leaving,” he says, and Laura’s eyebrows knit together in surprise. Clint figures for as much as she’s inferred, she hasn’t expected him to _actually_ go through with it.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m leaving.” He puts down his bag, because he knows this isn’t going to be a one-and-done conversation. “I don’t suppose you heard about what happened in Vienna.”

“I saw something on the news,” Laura says slowly. “They mentioned something about a bomb and a fugitive, but that’s all.”

“Natasha was there,” Clint says, not flinching at the surprise that flickers across Laura’s face at the statement. “She’s okay, but there’s a thing, and --”

“There’s always going to be a _thing_ ,” Laura breaks in. “It’s not like I don’t know that. But you need to tell me right now why this is the thing that’s making you march out the door.”

 _You need to tell me if it’s Natasha_ , and that’s the part where Clint feels himself trip up. Because it is, but it isn’t. It’s Natasha, but it’s so much more than Natasha. Natasha was probably the biggest part of it, and Clint knows he can’t kid himself about that -- he knows that _Laura_ can’t kid himself about that. But he’s also missed the actual fight more than he thinks he’s realized, and the whole situation has reached a point where it’s not just about loving someone else. It’s about the life he gave up and the fact that no matter how much he loves sleeping in or cuddling his children, he can’t, in good conscious, sit back and let that life continue without him.

“It’s everything,” he admits. “I can’t sit here and remove myself from her and everyone else forever.”

“No,” Laura says, pushing hair out of her eyes. They’re bright, water building across her pupils, but no tears have fallen yet. “You can’t.”

“I don’t want to do this,” he continues haltingly, a last-ditch attempt at trying to smooth over what is obviously a shitty situation, a move that he feels is more buoyed by his guilt than anything else.

“But you _are_ doing it,” Laura replies. “And if you leave like this, right now...Clint, I...I honestly don’t know if you can come back.”

He feels like a fist has landed squarely in his stomach, and he actually finds himself sucking in a rasping breath as he attempts to gather his words. He expected it, but he didn’t expect it to happen like this, so matter-of-fact, from the person who insisted they work on their issues, the person who pushed them to go to marriage counseling, the person who continued to give him the benefit of the doubt and gave him passes on what was clearly questionable behavior as a father. Suddenly desperate for an explanation that goes beyond a blunt statement, Clint looks into her eyes and he sees his answer clear as day -- she can’t fight anymore, and she knows there’s no point to.

“I can’t not help people,” he says. “It’s not who I am, Laura. You know that.”

“No,” Laura agrees softly. “It’s not who you are. You can’t sit by and watch someone else get hurt, and you can’t not run off and save someone you care about.” Her lips waver as she tries valiantly to smile. “It’s what I love about you, and it’s why I fell in love with you. It’s your biggest strength, and it’s made you such a good father, Clint. But it’s also your biggest weakness.”

He nods, swallowing down his own emotions. “I know.”

“And you need to tell our children.”

It’s not like he hadn’t been aware that one was coming either, but it was easier not to think about it. “I know,” he repeats,

“You can lie to them, and tell them you need to go to work, and then you have to figure out what to tell them if you don’t come home. Or you can be honest and tell them that you’re leaving, right now, and that you don’t know when you’re coming back,” Laura says. As she talks, her voice flat and no-nonsense, he becomes aware that those are only two options she’s giving him. And of course, they’re the options that will hurt the most, because they’re honest. Laura was never going to let him _not_ be honest about this, if push came to shove, because she knows as well as he does that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if his children never knew the truth.

“Tell Nathaniel that I’m sorry.”

Laura walks forward and reaches up, putting her hand against his cheek, and this time, when she blinks, the tears finally fall.

“I will.”

She looks down at the floor, and he gets what she can’t seem to say out loud: if he was going to go, he needed to go. They could stand here and talk for the rest of the day, they could argue with each other until they were blue in the face and until their children started screaming or tearing down the house in boredom, but there was nothing that either of them could say that would make things better. Not now.

Clint picks up his bow case and his bag, letting out a long exhale, and he starts towards the door. At the bedroom threshold, he turns around.

“Laura.”

She’s standing where he’s left her, twirling a piece of hair on one finger, and Clint tries to imagine happier times in this particular room -- laughing with his wife over something Cooper has done, singing quietly to Lila as an infant, snuggling together and promising love and happiness before he had a bow and an arrow and any kind of life outside of the farm.

“I love you.”

Laura smiles through the pain that Clint can clearly see written all over her face.

“I know.”

He tightens his grip on his duffel bag, and takes another step.

And then, just like that, he’s on his way out.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr for feelings and fic and more @isjustprogress
> 
> For what it's worth, I'm a Clintasha shipper. I'm also a Clint/Laura shipper. My intention with this whole series and this fic in particular is not to bash or erase one pairing over the other, but instead to try and show the very real conflict that I think someone in a marriage (and someone living two lives) would have to deal with. It's less about choosing one person/life and more how those decisions affect the people around them, and for a writer, it's a different way to explore characters I love...even if sometimes, like Laura says, it hurts to make certain choices.


End file.
